‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Anxiety was stirring—so much to fret about.
The stockings were hung, not quite straight but who cared,
Because perfection’s a myth we’ve all unfairly declared.
The fur-babies were restless, pacing the floor,
Awaiting their treats, always hungry for more.
And Dad in his hoodie, and I in mine too,
Sat quietly wondering, “How much more can we do?”
When suddenly from outside there arose such a clatter,
Our dogs barked in chorus, as if the world were in shatter.
I peeked through the curtains, my pulse running high,
And saw a lone courier under the moonlit sky.
Packages stacked, he dashed to his van,
As I muttered, “Another thing we didn’t plan.”
The grass sparkled wet, like stars on the ground,
And my mind wandered: “Did I clean up? Or will mess abound?”
Then out of the dark came a scene so surreal,
A sleigh and eight reindeer—was this even real?
A figure appeared, both familiar and strange,
With a twinkle of mischief that said, “Time for a change.”
“Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet! On Cupid! On Donder and Blitzen!
Fly high, but stay careful!” I shouted with dread,
“If they damage the roof, there’ll be invoices ahead!”
The sleigh landed softly, its magic profound,
Yet my overthinking brain couldn’t shut down.
What if this is a dream? What if it’s not?
Why does wonder so often tie my stomach in knots?
In he came, boots tracking snow through the hall,
“Shoes off at the door!” I reflexively called.
His coat was of fur, and though it looked warm,
I cringed at the thought of the cleanup post-storm.
“Relax,” he said gently, his voice calm and kind,
“You’re carrying the weight of far too much on your mind.”
I stared at his face, lit by a glow,
And for the first time in hours, let myself slow.
He unpacked his bag, gifts simple but true—
Moments of peace, and reminders anew.
“It’s okay to be messy, to worry, to doubt,
The unfinished human is what life’s all about.”
He winked as he turned, with joy in his stride,
And I felt a small spark of warmth deep inside.
“Merry Christmas,” he called, “and here’s what’s right:
It’s your quirks and your questions that make you your light.”
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